I attended a Kennedy High School basketball game the other night, the first time in more than 30 years.
I really had no reason to visit the school after I graduated in 1981, other than attend a few plays.
But it was kind of fun going back to high school, even for a couple of hours.
Kennedy looked pretty much the same, except I remember the gym being much bigger. But I suppose it just seemed bigger back then.
I can still remember how it felt not to have the worries I have today, to have the dreams and aspirations I had then, to know that my whole life was ahead of me.
I loved being 17, mostly because the world was full of possibilities, and I felt like I could do anything I wanted to do. And I did.
Sometimes I have dreams (more like nightmares!) about being back in high school and not being able to remember my locker combination or my schedule, or not being able to find my car in the huge, never-ending parking lot. But then I wake up and realize that I’m almost 50 years old, and I don’t have to be there.
Should I let out a sigh of relief that I’m no longer an immature adolescent, or retreat back to my dreams and be glad that for a few moments I can remember what it was like to be 17?
Maybe I’ll just be thankful that I don’t have to relive the past 30 years, and I can enjoy what I have accomplished so far.